Eating fruit and reading poetry, what could be a more decadent friday morning?
“Oh, the feel of the wolftail on the silk,
the strength, the tense
precision in the wrist.
I painted them hundreds of times
eyes closed. These I painted blind.
Some things never leave a person:
scent of the hair of one you love,
the texture of persimmons,
in your palm, the ripe weight.”
The end of Persimmons, by LI-YOUNG LEE. You can read the rest of the poem here:
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/171753
{Photo credit to me.}
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The $20 a head Chinese buffet in the area always has persimmons. They’re the only reason my mother goes with us to that buffet.